In the Deep Forest

BY Ken Cable

PART I: Chapter 2

Author: Ken Cable

Commander Keith Williams circled the fishing trawler twice before settling the Coast Guard MH- 65C Dolphin rescue helicopter into automated hover over the rolling Arcata Queen.  He keyed his wide-band marine emergency radio and spoke into the mic. “Ahoy Arcata Queen, this is Commander Williams out of Humboldt Air Station.  You have an injured crew man on board?”

“We do, commander, a lift boom snapped and fell on him as he was deploying a net.  He needs a hospital, bad,” came the reply.

“Okay, skipper, we’re dropping a medic and a lift basket.  Put crew on deck to steady them on board.”

“Okay, Commander, lower away.”

The medic and the injured man were quickly winched aboard the helicopter on the same lift.  After the crew pulled them safely in, Williams radioed the captain and asked, “The rest of you guys okay down there?”

“Yeah, we are,” said the captain.  “I think we’ve lost the seine.”

“Sorry about that, skipper.  We’ll take good care of your man.”  He then took control of the helicopter and circled away from the rolling trawler and set a course to Jackson Memorial Hospital in Eureka 65 miles away.

Williams switched to an operations channel and keyed the mic.  “Humboldt, this is Air Rescue 7; we are inbound to Jackson Memorial with an injured crewman from the Arcata Queen on board.  Rescue has head injuries and a broken leg; condition serious. Please advise Jackson; our eta is 45 minutes

“Roger, Air 7, will advise.”

Commander Williams lifted the rescue bird from the Jackson Memorial Hospital heli-port and turned north.  He radioed his base and said, “Humboldt, we have delivered our rescue and are enroute Arcata from Jackson.”

“Roger Air 7, see you soon,” said the tower duty officer.

After landing and rigging down the rescue bird, Williams hurried into the Air Station locker room and changed clothes.  He jogged to his car and drove out on to the highway and turned north.  He didn’t want to be late.

Chapter 3

Gene Roberts blew his whistle and waved the team to him.  They trotted over and gathered around, waiting patiently while he made notes on his clipboard.

“Okay, men, that’s it for today.  Next drill is Monday at 3:30 – be here,” he said with emphasis.  “You’ll get your team jerseys Monday in time for practice.”

Coach Roberts then unfolded and showed them a forest green practice jersey with the team name and school blazoned in gold across the chest, ‘Del Norte Warriors.’  “Hit the showers; see you Monday.”

The sun was slipping down behind the trees west of the practice field as Roberts followed his football squad into the gym, showered in the coach’s quarters, dressed and quickly left the school.  He would be on time.

PART II: Chapter 4

The mayors of Arcata, Weaverville and Eureka California stood on a pavilion in the Hoopa Indian reservation in front of a blaring brass band and waved hands encased in large, hair covered gloves at a cheering crowd.  Hundreds of people from all over the country – and many from foreign countries – shouted and waved identical gloves back at the podium.  Many in the crowd wore ape like masks and some were in full simian costume.  It was the annual Bigfoot believer’s celebration at the site of the first recorded sighting of the mysterious Sasquatch, believed by some to be an elusive and undiscovered ape-like creature, and by others as a vagrant branch of the hominid family with cousins scattered across the world.  Most didn’t believe either story, deciding it was a grand hoax – but a fun one.  Pop-up tents and booths were scattered across a wide expanse beside the Trinity River where celebrants could buy an astonishing array of Chinese made ape oriented souvenirs.  Food booths offered a wide variety of edibles including bananas, hot dogs, cheese burgers, roasted turkey legs, pastries and soft drinks.  Alcoholic beverages were not allowed on the reservation, but revelers brought an ample supply of their own hidden in backpacks or in water bottles and soda cans.  Vendors’ hawked Bigfoot apparel, including Bigfoot shaped helium balloons, masks, outsized hair covered footwear – and racks and tables offered tee shirts, caps, plastic mementos of the celebration of the search for Bigfoot.

While the Hoopa elders would not ordinarily permit such celebrations on their sacred lands, they made an exception for the Bigfoot Research Association whose annual fund raiser brought significant improvement to their own tribal administration’s budget.  Members of the Hoopa tribe did not join the revelers, deeming the celebration demeaning to their culture – and a denigration of a spirit-being many believed did exist.  In any case, the last bus load would leave the reservation by 2 a.m. leaving the meadow littered with the debris of their celebration.

The next day, a headline on page 3 of The Weaverville Trinity Journal read:

HOOPA RESERVATION BACK TO NORMAL
NO SIGHTINGS OF BIGFOOT REPORTED.
By Ken Stanzik  

Weaverville Newline 

Tribal elders had no comment about the Bigfoot festival that ended this morning with all attendees gone from the reservation by 2 a.m.  This reporter attended the event and, though I searched diligently, I found no evidence of the big ape in the crowd, only a few Sasquatch wannabees.  The absence of the star of the show did in no way diminish the festivities which included several standup comics regaling the crowd with big-monkey jokes, a huge Mylar helium balloon depicting a Lowland gorilla led a parade of costumed celebrants past a panel of judges seated on the pavilion.  The prize for the best Bigfoot character, a silver buckle sporting the image of Bigfoot, went to a hulking figure whose full body costume best characterized the object of the festival.  The shy winner declined to be interviewed and shuffled off into the crowd with his prize.

I ran into Anthropologist Daniel Kenzach who spoke to me about the legend of Bigfoot, pointing to similar reports from round the world.  “The Abominable Snowman, or Yeti, is big in Nepal and Tibet, in Siberia reports of a creature they call Cas Cas, Indonesia is proud of their Orang Pendok; and, of course, our own Navajo Nation offers us their Windigo. There are dozens more like these all around the globe.  They are all described as humanlike in body structure.”

Our conversation ended when the professor was distracted by a young woman wearing a pith helmet, a Black Panther mask, a leopard spot top and bottom, and carrying an animal trainer’s whip.

It was later reported to me that tribal elders were not sure they would host this festival next year.

Chapter 5

As timber companies logging the old growth forests in California’s northern counties moved from stand to stand, they closed their camps, cutting new logging roads to their next operation.  Old roads returned to natures over the decades and logger’s spot camps in and around the abandoned stands were once again reclaimed by the forest.  A shadowy figure slipped silently into one of these abandoned camps and sat down on a small downed log at the edge of the clearing.  George Lee listened intently, searching through a clutter of night noises – birds calling and small animals scuttling through the debris on the forest floor – listening for a special sound.

A full moon rose in the east and cast long tree-shadows across the glade.  Then he heard it, a low, rhythmic booming that floated in just above the lowest level of human hearing.  He rose from the log and picked up a broken branch.  Moving to a large tree, he began striking the trunk with his make-shift club.  After several blows, he waited and listened.  Soon the night air carried answering booms from every direction in the forest.  He sat back down on the log and waited for the others.  Soon, Keith Williams and Gene Roberts slipped into the clearing and sat down forming a triangle.    Lee spoke, “The festival begins tomorrow.  We must prepare.”  Each of them began removing their shoes.

Chapter 6

As each man disrobed, a low growl formed deep in their chests.  The sound rose to a guttural roar that echoed and reechoed through the forest.  As the sound died away, the forest grew quiet.  The moon light revealed three huge ape like figures covered in coarse brown hair standing in the clearing.  The transformation was complete.  Each figure shivered and shook, then the one who entered the clearing as George Lee spoke.

“Let us speak in their tongue.  Only a few of them believe in us. To the rest, we are a source of amusement. Look at their festival which begins tomorrow.  They play games among themselves about us for entertainment.  They call us Bigfoot from our tracks in the forest and in the snow.  The serious ones search and search for us, some claiming they have seen us in the forest, in the snowy Himalayas, among the Navajos – all round the world.  Some claim to have tracked us, photographed us and recorded our voices.

“They search and search when all they have to do is look at each other.  Some among them are us.  All of us are them. ” The three figures grunted their amusement at this.

He went on, “Yes, they are funny to watch.

“Now, let us go out into the forest, join our brothers and sisters and frighten some campers.”

The other two figures threw their heads back and chortled at this, a deep, gurgling sound rising from their throats.

“I will watch the festival this year from the edge of the clearing tell you about it next time we meet.” The figures turned and shambled into the woods.  The Lee figure called after them, “Remember, be back here Sunday night; we have to be at work on Monday.”

When George Lee checked in at the foreman’s shack Monday morning, his boss, in a much better mood, congratulated him for the new silver belt buckle he was wearing.  Where did you get that,” he asked.  Lee just smiled as he walked to his truck.

The End.